


There are no gods here

by withflouronmyhands



Series: Cressi Week 2k18 [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, cressiweek2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withflouronmyhands/pseuds/withflouronmyhands
Summary: Cristiano's thoughts on his feelings for Messi.





	There are no gods here

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 3 of Cressi Week 2k18.

_It's dangerous_  
_To fall in love, but I_  
_Wanna burn with you tonight_  
_Hurt me_

* * *

Messi’s touch burns him. It feels like he’s touching fire, something that he shouldn’t touch but that’s so entrancing that he just can’t help it. Messi leaves a trail of bruises down his chest as he fingers Cristiano, and he bites into his shoulder when he fucks him. It hurts, and it will leave him sore in the morning—though Cristiano’s never sure what aches more, the bruises, or the fact that Messi’s never there when he wakes up—, but it feels so good. It feels great, actually, Messi’s fat cock fucking him hard and deep, his hands grasping Cristiano’s hips so tight, Cristiano knows he’ll be able to trace the fingers on his skin when it’s over.

It feels like Messi’s just taking what he wants and letting Cristiano have the scraps.

 

In the mornings, Cristiano always wakes up to an empty bed, and the space that’s meant for Messi’s body, that Cristiano instinctively leaves unoccupied, is always cold and unruffled. While he gets up, he convinces himself that he’s used to it, and pretends that it doesn’t bother him.

He knows he’s always uncharacteristically quiet in the days that follow his illicit meetings with Messi, and his team mates always look worried, but they never ask (Cristiano thinks that’s better this way. He feels like he wouldn’t be able to keep it in if they did). He works twice as hard, even though he’s sore and everything hurts.

Maybe that’s why he does it. Maybe he's just trying to feel the hot, beautifully pleasant pain that Messi gives him.

 

The media likes to portray him as a man-whore, but he knows his friends would probably disagree. He hears them whispering behind his back, sees the look in their faces whenever they kiss their girlfriends after the games, and the only person waiting for him is his son. They say he’s lonely, and try to hook him up with some girl on the rare occasions Cristiano goes out with them.

Most of the times, Cristiano agrees with the murmurs, thinking that maybe he _is_ lonely. It leaves him thinking of the empty space on his bed that he wouldn’t mind sharing, but only if the right person came around.

However, on the rare times he happens to find himself underneath Messi, with Messi’s cock deep inside him, fucking him so good that Cristiano’s brain turns into mush and “harder” is the only word he knows, he thinks them all fools. After all, why would he want anyone sleeping next to him, when he has Messi on top of him, right where he wants him?

 

He doesn’t know when he started wishing for Messi to stay the night. He doesn’t know when he started to feel happy for Messi’s wins. He doesn’t know when he started wanting to talk to Messi and say something other than how he likes to be fucked. He doesn’t know when indifference stopped being all he could feel towards the man.

He doesn’t know, and he wasn’t expecting it, but there it is. What he does know is that he wants it all, and much more. He feels guilty about such things, thinking about how Messi has his girlfriend and how it isn’t right to wish such things of a taken man, and he only hopes Messi’s not cheating on her with him. It’s not that he has never gotten it on with married people, but he only ever did when he knew the other side wouldn’t mind. He can’t bear the thought of being a home-wrecker.

But just like how he doesn’t ask Messi to stay the night, or ask him about his day, he also doesn’t ask Messi if he’s screwing someone’s life just because he’s screwing Cristiano. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he can’t bear the thought of losing the little he already has, can’t stand not feeling Messi’s lips against his own ever again. It’s selfish, he knows, but what’s new?

He’s a coward, and worst of all, he knows it.

* * *

  _So come on, I'll take you on, take you on, I_  
_Ache for love, ache for us, why_  
_Don't you come, don't you come a little closer_

* * *

They always meet at a hotel, way from prying eyes, whenever they happen to be in the same town. They never meet after El Clasicos, though, because one of them always ends up hurt, while the other is on top of the world, and they can both see how badly it would go.

Every time Leo rolls over and turns his back on him after they have sex, Cris wants to reach out and make him sleep next to him instead. His body, still riding high on his climax, craves to be touched and to be held, and not feeling either is enough to blow his mood, to make him feel worse than before he arrived.

However, it’s well-established now that he’s a coward, so he never reaches out, and tries to find comfort in the rough bed sheets instead.

 

After a bad game, they’re both more reckless when they meet. The bites hurt a little more, the prep is done with less care, and they both end up a bit more ruffled up than they intended. It’s dangerous to take it out on each other, Cristiano knows that, but he also knows that if he endures it long enough, he’ll soon be overcome by the feeling of Messi on top of him, and his mind will go white with pleasure.

That makes it all worth it. All the pain, all the pining, all the unspoken whishes fade away after a while, leaving just emptiness behind. It’s different from when he scores, because then his feelings become overwhelmed and make him satisfyingly aware of the people screaming his name, of his team mates jumping on him, of the blinding lights of the stadium. Messi takes that and everything else away, leaves him empty and boneless, and he loves it. Cristiano never took drugs, but he imagines that’s why people do it, even when they know it’s bad for them.

Messi’s bad for him, but he gives him one of the best feelings in life.

 

It always comes down to Messi on top of him. Because it is a major turn on for Cristiano, and it isn’t something he feels comfortable asking from a mere stranger. It’s what he looks forward when they’re together, the feeling of Messi weighting him down, making him feel small and powerless.

So, he’s kind of perplexed with himself when he impulsively decides to turn things around. Messi’s about to enter him when Cristiano plants his feet on the bed and, in a surge of strength, rolls them around. He straddles Messi and, in one breath, feeling the pain spike up his back, lowers himself down on Messi’s cock.

It’s unexplored territory. The weirdness of the situation, of finding himself on top for once, dulls the pain. It wasn’t planned and it leaves him breathless, but it still feels right, and as he gets used to it, he starts to feel proud of himself. It feels like he’s finally claiming something, makes him feel less of a weakling.

He looks into Messi’s face expecting to see a warning, dangerous look. But Messi doesn’t seem to be ruffled by the situation, a little smirk playing on his lips. He puts his hands on Cristiano’s ass and prompts him to move.

In a way, Cristiano can’t help thinking that Messi looks proud him too.

 

It shifts they’re dynamic.

More often than not, Cristiano still prefers to lay down and let Messi move him however he wants, take whatever he’s looking for. But Cristiano’s not so scared anymore.

He still feels a pang of excitement, like he’s a kid doing something he shouldn’t be doing, whenever Messi’s sucking him and he buries his hand in Messi’s hair and let’s himself set the rhythm, being the one taking instead. It still feels unsettling when he’s the one on top, fucking himself on Messi’s dick and Messi just lays there, hands on Cristiano’s cock or on his ass, looking up almost lazily, like he’s expecting more. It always upsets Cristiano when he looks like that, makes him double his efforts, determined to wipe that look out of the other man’s face.

He doesn’t dare try for anything else, doesn’t let himself be clingy, doesn’t let himself ask for more. But it makes him feel less like a doll, which, he realizes, it’s how he’s been feeling all along.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the day that was the hardest for me to write, but I hope you enjoyed it. I was going for angst with a happy ending, but I ended up with only angst (with maybe slightly less angsty end?).  
> This one is very different from everything I have prepared for this week, and I use a quite different writing style (it felt like it, anyway). However, this allowed me to treat the characters a bit differently, which is always fun.
> 
> The italic bits are from today's song, "Fire Meet Gasoline", by Sia. I also tried to include the word and the genre from today's prompts.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
